


One More Time

by UltraVioletSoul



Series: Porn With Feelings...? [2]
Category: Call of Duty
Genre: Erotica, F/M, PWP, Possible OOCness, Read at Your Own Risk, Sexual Content, Smut, sorry for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 01:29:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3877213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltraVioletSoul/pseuds/UltraVioletSoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had a habit of visiting you at late hours of the night. </p>
<p> [[ Jack Mitchell x F!Reader ]]</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Time

**Author's Note:**

> I had promised I would write this one a long time ago, but it took me longer than expected. I apologize for the length and the bad quality. I wanted to get it done so I wouldn't procrastinate any longer. Hope you enjoy, nonetheless.
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I don't own Call of Duty Advanced Warfare or its characters. They all belong to Activision and Sledgehammer. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Warnings:** Unbetaed work. English is not my first language.

The feeling of his lips against yours is the first thing you come to realize as soon as you are face to face with him, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you against him. He does not give you a chance to part, a chance to recover, as you are backed against the wall and his hands slide under your clothes, fingers brushing against the skin of your stomach and breasts. Almost as if on instinct, you cup his cheeks covered in a faint growth of stubble and then hold onto his neck, reciprocating the kiss with desperate desire as you seek his tongue and he concedes, his breath hitching when your fingers grab fistfuls of his hair.

It is always like this, intense, unexpected. He would come to you without words and then clothes would be gone, skin against skin in the darkness of your room. This is no exception and, as soon as he starts to roll up your t-shirt, you know that you will not be getting much sleep. Not that you mind, at any rate. It has been a long time, since you had a chance to enjoy a nightly escapade, that neither you or him are letting this opportunity pass. Perhaps this is one of the few free nights he has, after a while, and who knows when you will have the chance to be with him again. The KVA does not take a break, now that they have moved into Detroit, and neither does ATLAS when it has over two million of people to care for. But tonight it is not about them. It is about you and him, concealed in shadows as you give in to each other and leave the rest of the world outside.

His fingers curl on the hem of your shirt and lift it over your head, as he breaks the kiss long enough to get rid of your clothing. His lips caress your neck this time, his stubble sending shivers down your spine as his hands trace a path to your chest. The contrast between flesh and synthetic material is curious but not strange or bizarre, and you are even glad that he seems to be less defensive with you when it comes to his arm. He used to see it as an useful tool, something that was supposed to make him feel whole, yet it was foreign to him. There was a time when he felt ashamed of his own body, afraid of being intimate with you, terrified of you thinking he was a freak. In time, he learned to accept a second chance, a chance not only to fight and serve but also to allow himself to be happy, without fears or remorse trying to bring him down.

Wasting no more time, he lifts you in the air and has you wrapping your legs around his waist and arms around his neck. With cautious steps, he carries you to the bed as you covered his face with kisses, and he smugly mumbles something about how he has missed you too. When your back hits the mattress, he removes his own t-shirt and you are met by warm skin that burns under your touch. His chest covers yours and you explore his broad back, feeling muscles tremble beneath your palms. His lips worship your neck and you gasp, taken aback for a moment by his teeth softly burying in your flesh and his tongue playfully gliding to soothe the slight sting.

He will not hold for much longer, you think as your underwear comes off and you are fully exposed to him, feeling ache and heat between your legs. His warm hand slowly slides down your chest, taking its time to fondle your breast and tease a sensitive nipple before seeking your stomach, which flutters with excitement at the sensation of his feathery touch and the knowledge of the destination he would reach. To your delight, his mouth also follows the same path until he finally lingers on the curve of your waist, his breathing ragged as you arch your back and his fingers curl around your thighs.

“Jack,” you whisper into the night, closing your eyes. You can feel him smirk against your skin, and then you shudder as his hand glides from your inner thigh upwards. A finger slides along your labia, gently spreading your wetness, and you cannot help but buck your hips, bending your legs as your toes bury on the mattress.

He part the folds of your pink flesh and it takes you a moment to recover your bearings when pleasure takes over. His tongue is diligent and gentle, and you find yourself losing your breath as he works you to ecstasy. Slowly, his mouth envelops you and it is enough to tear a cry from your throat, before you muffle it with your hand. It will do no good if someone finds out what you and him are doing, so you try to be as quiet as possible. It is not easy task when he does not relent and, just as you are about to lose control, he withdraws and starts again, building up the tension every time you are on the verge of falling. And when you finally do, he is there to catch you with his arms, embracing you in the afterglow of your climax.

As you rest, he makes little work of getting rid of the rest of his clothes, and you watch as he stands naked in front of you. His body is lean and strong, shoulders wide and hips narrow. One of his muscled legs rests on the bed as he climbs on it, and it is no long before he is hovering above you, molding against you as your arms go around his neck.

You missed him and so you tell him, the confession bringing a smirk to his lips as he settles between your legs. And you want to cry out when he enters you, filling you slowly, his low grumble caressing your shoulder as he rests his forehead on on the juncture of your neck. You hold back a moan and he kisses you whilst he moves with gentleness, every stroke he delivers sending you into a state of hysterical desire. He kisses you and his tongue slides into your mouth, your legs tightening around his waist as the pace picks up with every thrust and every sound of pleasure you make.

He whispers your name, lost in his own euphoria. His fingers bury in your hips as you struggle to keep up with him. It almost hurts but you are so caught up in the moment that you can only scratch his back, his weight trapping you beneath him. His skin is damp with perspiration and so is yours, the air is hot and thick with the scent of intimacy. You cannot resist and so your hips rise and push against him, his hand holding your cheek as he stops and seems unable to catch his breath. He pulls out, then, and you complain at the emptiness and the ache in you, glaring as he rolls on his back and by your side with a knowing smile.

He lies on his side and regards you with a look of mischief. A finger slides down your chest, pausing at the contour of your breast and a stiff nipple before he takes the mound in his palm and kneads it. For a moment he does nothing other than kiss you, and spends the next minutes caressing you and you return the attention he gives you. But when you are about to kiss him intimately he refuses, for he knows he will not last long. Instead, he makes you straddle him, lowering you onto him until he is inside you once more.

You feel the heat build inside you, as one of his hands grips your hip and the other travels to the spot between your legs, thumb flickering over your clit. He is gentle, but it only serves to make your blood burn when the pleasure courses through your body, your muscles painfully clenching while you try to endure the torture. You try to keep your balance, placing your hands on his chest as the sensations overwhelm you. Beads of sweat run down your breasts and stomach, as you pant and moan. His breathing is ragged and it grows more audible as his climax nears. Your insides tighten around him rhythmically with every brush of his slick fingers, with his hands gliding to your chest and the urgency behind his playful words. He is laughing and you cannot help but do the same as he holds your nape and brings you down onto his lips, and you surrender to him as your body goes limp.

He has won and you let him take over, sighing with content when he rolls on top of you once again. Your eyes close and your mouth opens fleetingly to let small gasps out before you bite your lower lip, feeling that familiar tingle between your legs. But he denies you, stopping to kiss you, and then resuming the torture until you cannot take it anymore. As you reach the edge and fall again, he holds you but this time he is not holding back. This time he is frantic, seeking his own release. Jack holds you to him, gripping your hip as you squirm at the waves of pleasure that travel to every inch of your being. He does not last for long, either, and soon a long quiet moan escapes his lips as he rests on top of you trying to catch his breath.

Humming in pleasure, he rolls on his back with a sigh of satisfaction. You shift to rest your head on his chest, as he throws an arm around you, and look at him. His eyes are closed, and his breathing is still heavy. He looks peaceful, content, and you cannot help but feel the same way. As you run your fingers across his chest, he stares at you with half-lidded eyes and a smile before he kisses you on the lips. Neither of you speak a word, because there is not much to say and you prefer it that way. You are not expecting for him to say he loves you, you do not hope for commitment on his part neither a promise of eternal devotion. Perhaps because part of you doubts such things exist. Perhaps you and him are not cut out for those kinds of illusions. And even though you know he will be gone when you wake up the next morning, something tells you that he will come back.

He always does.


End file.
